You met me when I would do anything for love,
when I was a dangerous boy to care for,
a fickle thing.
You could not tell if the love that slipped from my mouth
came from the heart, or the brandy,
or when I felt you slipping from my grip.

Could you blame me for having craved the love of the many people
who stood on the avenues of my interests?
I met you all at different times and loved you all
for different reasons.
This was a time when my head could be turned at the notion of more,
at the illusory promise of feeding an insatiable hunger.
As a young man who had the blood and bravado of
conquistadors coursing through him,
how could I stay still long enough to know I was full?

I wanted to drink, and fuck, and
then spend rainy nights with someone who understood
I was a husk
without blaming me for it.
Something that needed a chance to change,
a chance to understand itself,
a chance to give more a chance.

But I know I hoped and asked for too much,
and so I never made excuses for it.
I never told you what was hurting me,
or who hurt me,
or how I would often hurt myself.

I never told you where the secrets
that made me feel immeasurable guilt
were buried,
or how I was able to dig
a hole deep enough.
I never asked for forgiveness.

And as the months and years passed
I faded into the background of you
becoming the stepping stone I made myself.
The one that helped you cross over to gentler arms.

I want to say I will be better,
that I am better.
But to me the proof lies in a happiness I’ve not yet met.
If I were to become restless of being a
slippery stone in a creek,
If I were to succumb to the forgiveness that I’ve been afforded,
If I were to take the hand of someone who loved me,
and in that love understood me-

Maybe I could cross to where you are.
A place where the past is no longer an anchor
but instead the sail needed to travel to bluer oceans.

Maybe there we can live in peace.
Separately.